


Push

by missmishka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, F/F, Lydia Martin is no weakling, Mind Games, everybody lust/hates lydia, just the faintest hint of darkness and femslash, power trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmishka/pseuds/missmishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 2x05 "Venomous," a missing scene where Erica actually manages to get a moment alone with Lydia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories, thoughts or circumstances embellished on a little more than the original format had done. Not for any profit.

Her eyes are locked with singular intent.

Her steps stalk forward with calculated deliberation; hips swiveling hypnotically and long blonde hair bouncing against her chest in luxurious waves.

Lydia sinks back against the door of the bathroom stall that she had just exited in an instinctive fear of the other girl’s approach.

Erica Reyes is coming for her; the fact is obvious.  The other girl has no need for the facilities, her every action is toward Lydia.

She knows that focused stare; the deadest expression that allows no distraction from their surroundings and that lethally graceful gait aimed solely upon her.

Peter Hale torments her ever fading sanity with that same kind of deliberation and focus; intent on manipulating her to some end he has yet to reveal.

Somehow; some _way_ Erica Reyes has gone from sickly, seizure prone loser to all out predator.

A predator that seemed, for all intents and purposes, to think that Lydia Martin was prey.

Lydia fights a pathetic urge to fall back into the stall and try barring the door against the girl as Erica stops to prop her hip against the edge of a sink and all but leers at her; seduction and violence oozing from the other girl along with her new found confidence.

“Finally alone,” Erica drawls, head tilting in consideration.  “Not a one of your faithful little friends to help you now.”

“I think I can manage the bathroom on my own.”

Lydia forces aside her disquiet at the girl’s intense regard and cryptic words of menace.  She forces herself from the stall and moves to the sink to wash her hands. 

Erica doesn’t move from her lean against the porcelain nearby and Lydia refuses to give any outward reaction to the way the bimbo suddenly looms over her without moving a muscle closer.

“You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” the girl scoffs as Lydia rinses the soap from her hands.  “Those wonderful friends of yours haven’t told you a thing.”

Lydia freezes in mid-turn to the hand dryers on the wall when Erica suddenly reaches out to stroke a condescendingly tender hand over Lydia’s hair.

“Look at you,” the girl tsks, “so afraid without any clue what’s happening to you.  I can tell you what they won’t.  I,” Erica’s fingernails trail down Lydia’s cheek to curl in lightly and turn her until their eyes meet; “I can help you.”

For a moment, she considers it. 

Every word drips with a gloating superiority that clearly loves the idea that Erica knows something that Lydia doesn’t and Allison seems to know that same something but her so-called ‘friend’ isn’t saying _anything_ while Lydia can’t even make it through a single stupid class without her attacker coming after her.  Peter Hale scarred her body the night of the Spring Formal and now he seeks to do irreparable harm to her mind and she wants it to stop; she wants to know why and what and how it all has come to be but if Erica Reyes is the only one offering up explanations, Lydia decides it can wait.

“I don’t need help,” Lydia jeers, turning haughtily away from the baited offer.

“And that just goes to show how wrong you are,” Erica presses; verbally and physically.  “You hide it well,” the soft pad of her thumb moves to smudge the eyeliner that Lydia had so carefully reapplied.  “Make-up can only cover so much, even when it comes with the prestigious label of Estee Lauder.  I see the lines,” the thumb moves over Lydia’s face as if tracing such imperfections on her skin.  “So tired, so stressed.  No one to talk to.  No one who can possibly understand.”

The touching is oddly soothing as it moves over the erratically beating pulse in Lydia’s neck to settle on her shoulder; fingers sliding under her knit shrug to boldly caress bare skin.  Erica maneuvers her back against the sink and keeps her other hand on Lydia’s hip.

“I’ve always envied you,” the other girl confesses, bending slightly to … _sniff?_ Lydia’s hair.  “So pretty and perfect; poised and ever-so pristine. All the girls envied you and you would have it no other way; flaunting you wealth and advantage; your intelligence and personality.  So popular that we didn’t even care that we were nothing more than bugs beneath your heel as you sashayed these halls because you at least walked over us.”

Erica’s fingers go from caressing to hurting; nails bite into Lydia’s shoulder and break skin as she hears a telling rip of fabric on her hip.

“You’re too dumb a bitch to even realize you’re the bug now, fixed under everyone’s microscope to see what drug or disease has take you over and turned you into such a total headcase.”

Her denim clad leg wedges itself between Lydia’s thighs and the coarse fabric grates over her flesh even through her stockings.

“I’m offering you salvation and you still sneer at me?”

Erica’s hand unclenches enough to move back up her neck until it wraps tightly around her throat, just under the jawline.  Lydia struggles not to react, but when she can’t breathe her hands go instinctively to tear at the girl’s arm. 

She gasps for breath and loses the battle when Erica crushes her lips down on Lydia’s; sealing their mouths together while her tongue plunged lewdly inside.  The hand on her throat eases enough that Lydia can smell the other girl’s over-applied hair products and cheap perfume.  She tastes the tacky lipstick coated with a sickly sweet overlay of flavored gloss. 

Katy Perry song lyrics start flashing through her mind along with blinding bursts of light and spreading darkness as she realizes she still can’t breathe.

The slam of the bathroom door being shoved open to admit a trio of chattering girls brings the madness to a stop.  Erica whips away in apparent surprise at the intrusion and she releases her grip.

Lydia disgraces herself by collapsing to her knees on the filthy floor while covering her bruised neck and sucking in gulps of air.  The interlopers screech to a stop at the scene and race out at the … _growl?_ Erica throws in their direction.  She can imagine this new bit of gossip burning its way through the halls of Beacon Hills High; Lydia Martin psycho _and_ lesbian.

The indignity of it all renders her deaf to whatever Erica is bending over her to say when they’re alone again in the room.

Peter Hale and what he’s doing to her; that’s one thing.  Something she can’t yet escape or fight because he’s managed to get into her head the same way his inhuman teeth and fingernails had gotten into her skin.

Erica Reyes, though?  Nothing but a new tart trying to upstage her as the diva of this school and Lydia Martin is not about to be upstaged. 

She had earned her status in this school and nothing would take it from her before she graduated. 

Not Jackson Whittemore, not Peter Hale and sure as shit, not Erica _slutbag_ Reyes!

Erica helps her to her feet and Lydia lashes out the second she’s upright.  Catfights are beneath her, but she knows how to slap a bitch and when to curl it into a fist when no doesn’t seem to be having any effect to stop an asshole’s groping. 

She drives such a fist into the blonde’s cheek and feels her knuckles rake over teeth before she draws back from delivering the blow.

“I do not need help,” she repeats with ice in her veins and steel in her spine while Erica’s tongue probes at the bloody corner of her mouth.

“Oh, honey,” the girl laps at her own blood with a flash in her eyes that makes them appear to be glowing.  “You have no idea what you need.”

Those eyes lock on her again, seeming bright and narrowed with bloodlust.

 The girl’s long, skinny jean clad legs take a single step forward as she rolls her shoulders in a flexing move that pops bones and muscle rather ominously.

“The things I’m going to show you before this is over…”

The bathroom door bangs open again before Lydia can run for it and run for it she would have because she can only imagine what the other girl had in mind and none of it is good or appealing.

Allison is suddenly there, taking in the scene and shoving her out into the hallway where Stilinski is waiting. 

They move quickly away from the girl’s room, diving into the library to evade the sudden attention of Isaac Lahey down the hallway and Lydia wants to demand answers, but has figured something out from all the time spent recently on her knees.

 _Lydia Martin is no one’s prey_.

Whatever is happening to her; regardless of who knows and what they know, she does _not_ **_need_** help.

She hasn’t asked for it from her friends and she doesn’t expect it because she _does_ **_not_** need it.

She would figure out Peter Hale and make him suffer for every choosing to make her feel or look a weakling.

She would figure out what was going on with all the subterfuge amongst her so-called friends and this sudden interest from unlikely rivals like Erica Reyes.

Then she would get Jackson back in time for them to be crowned Prom King and Queen and she would end her high school reign as perfectly as she had planned it because she was beautiful and brilliant and all the girls in Beacon Hills _still_ envy her.

She takes a seat in the library and pulls out her compact while Allison and Stiles have a huddled conversation about her that Lydia has no care to know the content of. 

She looks at the reflection of her lips; saliva slick, red smeared with transferred lipstick and kiss swollen and watches her tongue come out to glide over them.  She belatedly identifies the overly sweet lip gloss as cotton candy as she closes her mouth with a pop before lifting her hand to dab daintily at color smudged on her skin.  She cleans up the mess and can’t help thinking at the slithering poke and glide of Erica’s tongue as the other girl found her lip bleeding. 

Whatever _things_ she thought she might do, Lydia can think of a few that she could do to Erica.

Lydia Martin was tired of being the one that got pushed against walls and groped by freakishly strong people.

She was ready to start pushing back.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't really do femslash, but the idea of Erica/Lydia really *really* pulls at me and so I had to kind of write this because it is another vastly underwritten pairing in the fandom and I just love the idea of it. All that lip gloss and long hair and burgeoning female sexuality honed to a fine-edged weapon.... 
> 
> As a pairing they would be so vicious and wicked and sexy that even I go; WOW, that's hot.


End file.
